Alexandra Brighton spent the last five years in Boston, erasing all evidence of the wild frontier girl she used to be. Before she settles, she’s determined to visit her childhood home one final time. But when she finds herself stranded far from civilization, she has no choice but to trust her safety to the tall, dark and decidedly dangerous bounty hunter, Malcolm Kincaid.

Now that Malcolm finally has the location of his brother’s killer, he has no intention of wasting time protecting a pampered Eastern lady. But something about Alexandra speaks to the heart he long thought frozen—and her slow transformation from proper miss to wild-eyed beauty leaves him shaken. By the time they reach Montana, Malcolm must decide if seeking justice for past wrongs is worth losing a future with the woman he never expected to need…

EXCERPT

The woman was still dressed in the Eastern getup she’d had on the day before. Her blue skirts were dusty at the hem, but the shirt beneath her matching jacket glowed white in the night. She no longer had the ridiculous hat perched atop her head, and some wispy strands of dark hair had slid free of the twisted-up arrangement to brush against her face. Aside from that very slight bit of dishevelment, she looked as though she were stepping into some high-styled drawing room, rather than a one-man camp in the middle of the Wyoming wilderness.

Keeping a sharp and wary gaze on his Colt, she stepped up to the fire and extended her hands to the modest flames. It looked like her fine gloves had gone the way of her hat.

“Good evening, Mr. Kincaid.”

Malcolm curled the corner of his mouth as her formal tone struck a chord somewhere between aggravation and amusement. The amusement surprised him. “What the hell are you doing here?”

She shifted her attention from his gun to his face. “I saw your fire and hoped it belonged to someone generous who might be willing to share the hospitality of their camp.”

Malcolm was pretty sure he heard a note of censure in her tone—as though she was trying to say his hospitality left much to be desired. “I don’t like company.”

The woman flicked a sharp glance toward his gun, still in hand and resting atop the thigh of his outstretched leg. “So I gathered,” she stated in clipped tones.

There was some sass in that reply. Malcolm narrowed his gaze. “Where’s your escort?”

A pause. Then, “Gone.”

Malcom tensed. “Gone where?”

She looked back to the fire and straightened her posture before answering. “I don’t know where. They left.”

He took a moment to be sure he’d heard that right, but there was no mistaking the words for what they were. “They left,” he repeated.

The fancy Miss Brighton executed a gesture halfway between a dismissive shrug and a frustrated sweep of her hands. “Yes, Mr. Kincaid, they left,” she repeated. “This morning, while I took a few personal moments to myself, Mr. Lassiter, his brother, and his brother’s wife—though I have some serious doubts those two were married or that they were any relation at all to Mr. Lassiter—decided to take possession of my meager belongings and left me at the side of a creek a few miles from here.” She paused then to lift her gaze back to meet his. “Does that clarify my situation enough for you?”

It did.

It was not a surprising tale. Her vulnerability had been obvious to anyone who’d seen her enter the saloon yesterday. She was lucky she hadn’t been shot, though it probably would have been a better fate than being left to die in the wilderness.

That an Eastern lady like her had managed to survive the whole day on her own was unexpected. That she barely looked worse for wear was practically unbelievable. That she appeared more angry than terrified was proof of the woman’s pure ignorance.

Malcolm propped his thumb under the brim of his hat and lifted it a bit more. “You’ve been out here— alone—all day?”

“Not by choice, I assure you.” Her reply was muttered from between tightly clenched teeth. The woman wasn’t angry—she was damned near furious and doing her best not to show it.

“You’re lucky to be alive.” That brought her gaze sharply back to him.

“You think I don’t know that?” she snapped.

Malcolm didn’t think a reply was necessary. He could feel the woman winding up for a tirade. Seeing no point in trying to stop her, he eased back into a more comfortable position to wait it out.

She swept her arm out to encompass the expansive darkness around them. “Those…those cowardly thieves left me to die out here. For what? A handful of traveling money, some clothing, and a few personal possessions that won’t matter a whit to them.” Though she didn’t shout, each word got more and more weighted with her fury. “If they expected to find a wealth in jewels or sacks of cash hidden in my valise, they’ll be sorely disappointed. Still, it was all I had. I can’t believe I was such a fool to trust them. And you,” she added sharply, swinging her bright eyes back to him. “This all could have been avoided if you’d just agreed to escort me yourself.”

Malcolm took a deep breath. The woman’s wrath was something to behold, not unlike a summer thunderstorm sweeping in from out of nowhere, but he was not about to stand for having it directed toward him.

“What makes you think you’d be any safer with me?”

Her eyes widened at the hint of menace he purposely inserted into his voice. She folded her arms across her chest in a protective gesture, but then she lifted her chin and met his shadowed gaze with a defiant stare.

“If you intended to…attack me”—her voice caught on the phrase before she powered through it—“you’ve already had plenty of opportunity.”

Malcolm slowly curved his mouth in a smile. “Maybe I like my women warmed up a bit first.”

She glanced toward the fire in front of her. It was just a brief flick of her gaze. In less than half a second, she was back to staring at him. “You wouldn’t,” she declared quickly, but her weight shifted in preparation for flight.

Malcolm waited long enough to see the wariness spread across her pert little features before he replied, “I might.”

About Amy

USA TODAY bestselling author Amy Sandas’ love of romance began one summer when she stumbled across one of her mother’s Barbara Cartland books. Her affinity for writing began with sappy preteen poems and led to a liberal arts degree from the University of Minnesota Twin Cities. She lives with her husband and children near Milwaukee, Wisconsin.